


Chapter Thirty-Nine: intimate Stranger

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [40]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers Generation Two
Genre: Caring, Friendship, Gen, Hangover, Healing, Other, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Five of <i>Knights of Hedonia</i>:  Hangovers treated, friendships repaired, and consciences cleared, Artemis has one last task before turning in for a night of movies and heckling: to confront the darkness hanging over her shoulder, and admit that she needs help to defeat it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Thirty-Nine: intimate Stranger

  
We are bound we must be found  
We are the way to heaven  
We live in the dark but we breathe as one  
We must come together  
—["Intimate Stranger" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJrDP0GOT7c)by Android Lust, from The Human Animal

  
_Lost Light_  
Now

_Still at Magnus's._

It was a quick note. Artemis did not feel comfortable leaving Magnus alone. She convinced herself she would leave once the painkillers took effect.

Instead, he asked questions. Of course he did: he wanted to know what transpired during the "incident", as he called it.

Other than leaving out Whirl's part and her own bounty nab, she gave him full disclosure: from the moment she split from the others, to when she hooked up with Trailcutter, when they hit the duty-free shop, and the decision to help Swerve out with the bar and procuring materials for him, which led to Trailcutter accidentally getting impounded and the attempt at extortion by a bored security personnel.

"And I'm willing to bet your headache's returning," she concluded, sitting across his desk chair with legs swinging over the arm. "We had the permits in place, but the port cops took advantage of 'Cutter's faulty GPS telling him to turn left instead of right, and tried to shake five-hundred shanix out of us."

"Thus why you threatened the authorities." 

"I wouldn't say threaten, and 'authorities' would be stretching their job description. They were operating an extortion racket, and I may have implied that only one type of Autobot would be caught on a planet with a weapons black market."

"Wait — black market?!" Magnus sat up, groaned, and sank back into a reclining position. 

"Stuff they don't put in their travel brochures, soldier. But seeing that they may have been facing the possibility of two-hundred-plus Wreckers planet-side, he backed down." Another ping on her 'pad: _When you get a moment, please see me at my office. —Rung._ The head shrinker — _psychiatrist,_ she corrected herself — was the type to sign his messages, just in case whatever device receiving his message did not recognise his protocol address. She sent a confirmation that she received the request.

"And you didn't think of informing us about this in the first place?"

"Can I bring up a couple of logistical issues? First things first: pretty much any resort planet in the Arm has a shady underbelly. Doesn't matter where you go. Second, after the run in with Lockdown, we needed to up the defences, and after the whole business with the Galactic Council, no legitimate arms dealer will work with us as a race. And before you jump to conclusions, I had no part in that. I wish Rod talked to me first, because I could have helped broker something with the Wandering Star clansmen, but _c'est la vie_."

"What — "

"'That's life'." She doubted he was questioning the phrase. "And with Drift staying on board, likely Rod didn't even know he was dealing with black market traders. I think I'd be more worried if it wasn't for Perceptor and Brainstorm looking the merchandise over before they purchased it."

"We purchased _illegally obtained weapons_?!"

"Put that way...." she swung her legs over, back into a proper sitting position. Leaning forward, with her elbows on her knees, she exhaled. "I received a pinbeam while on Hedonia from Minerva — remember her, Ryder? My maybe-human friend from Four Winds? Communication to and from Cybertron had been cut off. News satellites have been disabled, ports have been closed." She clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head. "There's measures in the Sirian Triumvirate to sever trade to our colony planets. We're being blockaded, soldier."

A sigh. "That...was the implication I received when discussing matters with the Galactic Council as well." A pause. "What about you?"

"Hm?" She looked up, arched a brow.

His optics were offline. "What about you? How does a potential Sirian blockade affect you?"

"I'm still a retired employee and contractor-on-retainer in good standing with the Clan of the Shadow, which means I can pull dual citizenship if needed. But that's not important. The _Spoils_ also left port. Minerva reported that Octane and Sandstorm left with three unknown Minibots with beast modes, one of which was said to be a wet-wire pilot-navigator. Drez okayed their departure because they said they were looking for us. More likely because the docking fees for something that huge is astronomical."

"That could be a problem," Magnus agreed. 

"Look, you're supposed to be resting," she stood, "and I've got an appointment with Rung." Passing his berth, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Message me if you need anything, okay?"

He did not respond right away, only placed his hand over hers. She leaned forward, studying his face. Magnus, with little expression, gave off the eerie sense of withdrawal. "You know, I don't think what everyone else considers fun and relaxing's your thing. Maybe a movie, or a night in with music. But right now the best thing for you is a bit of rest, let the painkillers kick in. We'll continue this when you're up to it."

"Wait." He held fast her hand. "Answer one thing: What are you thinking? Right now."

 _What are you thinking._ That was easy. "Minnie's message bothers me on the homefront — Cyberrton. I'm worried about 'Bee. I was thinking that he had things under control. He's got Prowl and Jazz behind him, sure, but if things went sour...."

"Prowl...isn't completely behind Bumblebee's leadership."

"Tell me about it — I had hoped Optimus' tap would have knocked some sense in him."

"Do you regret leaving?"

"That's two questions," she reminded. "But no, I don't. Best last click decision of my life. We'll chat later, now rest up."

Pulling away, fingertips lingering — 

_Good Primus, this will get complicated._

Why should it be?

She waved away the thought. Once outside the suite, she sent two messages: one to Trailcutter — _Rung wants to see me; be there soon_ — and one to Ratchet — _Patient's resting, will keep you posted, Doc._

Magnus's first question had switched her gears into risk management and damage control. Prowl had tapped her during the reconstruction efforts for just that, primarily for her ability to see the illogical, the variations, the deviations in an otherwise logical situation assessments. Unlike Chromedome, she never witnessed the aftermath of voluntary termination, but however he reacted, it was guaranteed there were a few tables short in Kimia.

Rung had taken an office near the munitions storage. An interesting choice of location, seeing that many of his patients found themselves wandering into this direction more often than not. According to Rewind, Rung had a private practice prior to the Clampdown. Little else was available when the Functionists conscripted (Artemis's word, not Rewind's) him for government-funded Psychological Operations. Soon after the War ended and the Senate fell for the umpteenth time, he returned to the private sector, before boarding the Lost Light, offering his services. 

Whether her appointments with him were court ordered or not, Artemis welcomed the visits. He listened, he remembered, and he did not judge. That was what won her over with him. He did not point blame. He had no agenda, other than to help. She believed it.

She had to believe in something.

His office was a semicircular room with a series of portholes looking out into space. One had the crash panel lowered. A chair, a bench; books — real books, not just 'pads — writing materials and art supplies, all neat on the shelves nearest to his work area. Across the room, over his desk, was another shelving unit, this one his display of ships.

Artemis liked the ships. She never picked them up, just examined their detail, her hands clasped behind her back. 

"This is just an informal meeting, nothing official, just to touch base," Rung reminded after greeting her. "Did you enjoy shore leave?"

"It's better now that 'Cutter accepted my apology," she admitted. "He got caught up in one of my schemes. Usually I'm better at planning things out, assessing the risks. I missed one detail, and, well...things got dicey." She flicked a smirk. "FYI, I might have patched things over about your own adventure — told Magnus the bartender overestimated his tolerance. He doesn't believe the avatar malfunction story, but accepted it as a cover to hide his embarrassment."

"It is...appreciated." From his reaction, he was equally embarrassed in his involvement with the situation. "Although I do have reservations of the subterfuge — "

"Well, it's either that or throw Whirl to the mercy of the court. Weighing the options, I'd rather stick with the underestimating the potency than being on Whirl's slag list." She approached the collection shelves, zeroing in on the additions.

"You calculate the value of your friendships?"

"Few. Not all. I have a hard time with Whirl. I shouldn't trust him. 'Buster — Roadbuster — told me when I first joined the Wreckers not to trust him. This was just as the Legion conflict started. The thing is, he — Whirl, that is — picks up on that. I'm certain I could like him if it wasn't for the fact he tried to kill my friend. Euthanasia, he claimed. But that wasn't his call. Maybe I give him a little more leash than others because he'd been fragged over by the Functionists." She furrowed her brow, and for once went to pick up on of the models, a roughly oblong ship shaped like an asteroid. "They made Warworld models?"

"They were a limited run; I'd imagine they were not popular," Rung admitted, "because I found a couple in the clearance bin at the gift shop on Hedonia."

"This is Thunderwing's...no, it's _Wreckers' Spoils_ ," she leaned against the wall, then pointed to the bow. "It had a snub nose bow, with the curved view shield. Fold engines were recessed. They must have used recent imaging of it to make the mould, because here — the starboard hatch — that was an add-on, as a sort of observation lab for Skyfire — " She stopped, turning the model over before returning it to the shelf. After a lengthy pause, she admitted, "I got a communique from a Four Winds -- Sirian -- colleague while we were on Hedonia. I had thought they were going to strip it down; we thought it was dead in the water without the pilot, but...the _Spoils_ left port. To search for us. Cybertron thought us dead after the blast, and comms to Cybertron have been cut off. I haven't heard much else since; Blaster said our own comms are shaky at best."

"You're apprehensive of meeting up with your old comrades?"

"Not them. Oh, never them." She glanced back at the collection. "I hope we do see them again. I'm curious about who they found to help them pilot the ship. But...I've got mixed feelings about the ship itself. Bad memories. I let the crew have a field day making it their own. It helped, but it was only so much giving Cav full reign on paint and decoration will do; can't erase what happened before."

"Do you wish to continue this discussion now, or would you like to save it for our regular appointment?"

He was sensing the approaching trigger. She nodded. "Yeah, I'd rather not go there now — too good of mood, I don't want to jinx it. But I think I know why you called me here in the first place."

"Ratchet expressed concern over your attempt at controlling your addiction." For a little guy, he pulled no punches. "And while admirable of facing the issue head on — "

"I should have talked to you and Ratchet first, I know," she interrupted. "And because of it, I lost the initiative in an investigation." She got on the defencive too quickly. Should have let him finish; should have held her tongue. "Sorry...I didn't want to hear someone else say it."

"It's all right. Do you remember what I asked you when you first came to see me?"

"What my goals were," she answered. At the time, it seemed a strange question, and the answers were superficial, in hindsight: get the slag off of Cybertron (done), join Rodimus's crew (also completed), find something useful to do (working on that), make friends (some success), try not to make enemies (not so much). At that time, she was still guarded, uncertain to trust Rung.

Even as trust was built, he never revisited the first question.

Until now. "Was it?" Rung gave her a smile, friendly, open.

Oh. The possibility of a trick question flushed her processor, but there was never any tricks with Rung. "How I was feeling."

"Do you remember how you answered the question?"

"Incorrectly."

He held up a finger. "There are never wrong answers, only clues. Why do you feel as though you answered incorrectly?"

"Because I had interpreted it as 'doing'." _I'm alive, off that Primusforsaken planet with its bureaucratic slag behind me, I'm finally my own person...I'm fraggin' fantastic._

"This isn't necessarily an incorrect answer; you respond to external stimuli. If I may make an observation, your response of how you were 'doing' led to a belief that you felt free. Not from obligation, per se, but a weight had been lifted from your shoulders." 

She nodded, contemplating his words. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"I'd like to ask you again, this time I'd like for you to answer using internal stimuli: how are you feeling?"

"Right now?" Inhale, exhale. "Conflicted. Still trying to carve my own path in life. Realising I'm deviating from the exercise. Okay, second go: I feel..." She leaned up on the desk, bowed her head. "I feel frustrated. But it's minor. The task has been delegated to someone with more authority on the matter, but I feel like I should have followed through, but couldn't because of my own shortcomings. Which leads me to concern: a friend is suffering from a prank gone wrong. And I blatantly covered for the gashole who did it. Which leads me to anger: why am I covering for him? Because I calculate his usefulness based on staying on his good side, which doesn't make me a good friend after all, and I have to wonder if it's worth it. And right now — right now — I'm looking forward to tonight, because a bunch of us are getting together and watching movies, and because it's so fragging normal, so mundane, I'm going to enjoy it. Because normality is something I'm unaccustomed to...." She shrugged. "I'm happy to have friends."

They agreed on a schedule, staggering the sols, mid-ship's-morning. Artemis's rationalisation figured it would be harder to hide a hangover that early. As she left, she fought that train of thought: it was time to stop thinking everyone had an ulterior motive.

A quick text to Trailcutter — _on my way!_ — as she left the office, and ... she felt better. 

_I'm happy to have friends._

She had friends before...what made this different?

A beep on her comm, and she checked the message. _Scrounged up those spicy-sweets you like. Had to bribe Huffer for them. Never seen anyone so possessive of candy._

She grinned, replying. _Whatcha want? Name it, I'll get it._

_I'll see what you have in that footlocker of yours and then we'll talk._

A smile stretched across her face. Friends. It has to be.

NEXT CHAPTER:  
_Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun:_ Guardians at the Gate  
_Knights of Hedonia Epilogue:_ Realm of the Senseless


End file.
